


One Hot Summer Day

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Orgasm Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Castiel got his nipples pierced, Dean has wanted to play with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hot Summer Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an anonymous gift.

Ever since Castiel pierced his nipples, Dean’s wanted to touch them. To tug them, to jerk a moan from Cas’s mouth (or to just feel the wet huff of his breath against his palm if Dean didn’t want to hear Castiel until they collapsed in their post-sex haze, when the only noises Castiel could make were a jumble of half-shaped vowels from that fucked up pink, swollen mouth of his, or to just see him writhe under the hand over his eyes or under the hand on his dick or under both his hands gripping his throat hard enough to blow those blue eyes wide, so fucking wide as Dean fucked an orgasm out of him, stealing so much of his breath away Castiel couldn’t say anything, couldn’t voice anything but a scraped up moan after they were done).

It’s a hundred fucking degrees outside and their air conditioner’s broken and it’s a three day holiday weekend and Cas walks around with his shirt off, silver beads glinting against his nipples, wearing just a pair of jeans that slip off his slim hips and he’s chopping up cucumbers for a goddamn salad, fingers curled all loose around the handle of the knife while shadows play in the hollow of those hips, and Cas has forgotten to pop the top button inside its hole and there’s a tease of hair leading down, down, down—so Dean gets up, t-shirt sticking to the sweat of his back, and swings the refrigerator door open, grabs a brown bottle of beer that sweats into his hand.

He slides in behind Cas, and Cas doesn’t even flinch in surprise, the fucker, doesn’t even pause, just keeps on slicing those cucumbers like Dean isn’t there at all, just shifting his hips away in that peacocking way, so Dean puts the cold bottle against Cas’s abdomen, right there over his belly button as his hands slide under his jeans, grips the spur of his hip to hold him still. Cas jerks then, says “Dean” –

But Dean says, soft in his ear, “Shut up.”

And Cas shuts up because he knows that he won’t get anything if he doesn’t and maybe Dean flushes a little at how quickly Cas falls silent, just tipping his head a bit back, his neck a slender slope, that fragile shudder of breath in the hollow dip of it.

The only noise is the sound of the knife dropping to the table, Cas holding his hands still, poised, waiting.

Dean’s dick hardens and he says, “Put your hands to your sides, pressed up tight against your thighs.”

And Cas does, gripping the muscle through the blue denim, arching back a fraction and Dean looks down his bare chest, at the beer bottle sweating against his skin, at the light glinting from those fucking rings. 

He rolls the bottle up the planes of his stomach, up over one nipple and Cas shudders at the click of the ring against the bottle, so Dean reaches up with his free hand, pinches the other nipple hard before flicking the tip. “I thought I said to shut up? Didn’t I say to shut up?” He rolls the cold bottle over the other nipple, and Castiel nods, a sliver of white teeth biting into his lips, not quite pink, not swollen either, but Dean figures there’s plenty of time to change the state of that mouth.

Cas’s skin shivers underneath the bottle, under the trail of condensation that slips past the freckle, just there, just there off to the side, that freckle that on some days Dean’ll lick until Cas tries to buck him off because his hands are all tied up against the bed—“that tickles Dean—only to push him down harder, eat him up with his mouth and his teeth, fucking into him with his tongue and his dick and his whole goddamned body until their bodies are gone, gone, gone—

Maybe time for that later, because Cas is trembling against him, shut up little noises shuddering under the soft yield of his throat as Dean licks a stripe up his neck, up and over his adam’s apple, right there in the corner of his jaw, nipping at the pulse point there, corkscrewing one nipple with his knuckles and rolling the bottle over the other, glass slipping and sliding, rings glistening, and Cas trying so hard, so very hard not to say anything, do anything, digging those fingers into the meat of his thigh, clutching so goddamn tight.

Dean slides his palm up the curve of Cas’s throat, pushing just hard enough to hear Cas’s breath catch and his other hand cups his groin, feeling the way Cas’s muscles tighten, the way he stops himself from pushing up into his palm, seeking more pressure to reveal the ache of his already hard dick. “Stay right there,” he says, lips right up in the shell of Cas’s ear. “When I come back, I want to see you naked and just standing just like you are now. Waiting for me.”

As he leaves, he puts the beer on the table, wet and hardly cold now, and he doesn’t bother to turn around to see if Cas is gonna obey him because he already knows he will, already hears the snick of the zipper and the thump of his shoes as Cas kicks them off and then Dean’s out of ear shot in their bedroom, jerking open his underwear drawer and pulling out the thing he’d bought the very next day after he saw those rings so shiny and pert and new in Cas’s nipples. He takes it out of its packaging, the soft ripple shine of it as the links of the chain laugh against each other, and he smiles, thinks of Castiel bare and naked under him, with just this chain stretching across him, all smooth and fragile and keeping him there, just there—

Dean palms his dick through his jeans.

When he comes back, Castiel is standing still, like he’d never even moved, except for the pile of clothes kicked to the side, his erect cock thick and heavy between his legs, the sex flush creeping up his abdomen, heating up towards the silver in his nipples.

“Good boy,” Dean says, voice thick as he eyes Castiel up and down, eye fucks him there, and Castiel gives it right back, zeroing in on the bulge in Dean’s pants before meeting him eye to eye, until Dean snaps out, “Did I say you could look me in the eye?”

And Castiel bows his head, stares at the floor between his feet, hands at his sides.

Chain wrapped around his fingers, tight enough to dig in and cut off the blood flow, enough to make Dean numb and ultra aware of the throb between his legs, the way his dick presses up close against his zipper, against the seam of the pink panties he liked to wear now in retaliation for the pierced nipples, Dean goes to Cas, touches the jutting edge of his hip bones, tracing the bone there, dipping lower and lower to that tender place, just there, right there in the curved hollow of his hips.

“Good boy,” he says when Cas doesn’t moan, just breathes harsh and heavy through those half parted lips, chapped, just waiting for something to wet them, to spit them up good, to fuck them raw, to make them up with his come—wide pupils skittering away from Dean because Dean hasn’t given him permission yet to look him in the face, to drink him up, to appreciate the way Dean’s mouth parts as his hand moves to Cas’s lips, and he says, “Lick it,” and he has to swallow hard at the way Cas’s pink slip of tongue flashes first, wetting his own lips so hungry and thirsty, before he drags his tongue from the heel of his palm, flattening the wet breadth of his tongue into the cup of Dean’s hand, licking each life line, threading his tongue-tip between each digit, curling around the knuckle as he slides it up, sucking on the tip of his third finger like an obscene lollipop until Dean grits out,

“That’s enough!”

And Castiel stops, the air a little colder on his spit-slicked skin as Dean curls his fingers around Cas’s cock, jerking him nice and slow and not nearly fucking hard enough for Cas’s tastes, and he can see the impatient shift of his eyes, until Dean lets him go, until Dean attaches the chain to one ring and then the next ring, soft clicks ellipsing the way Castiel’s heart flutters beneath Dean’s administrations, the way his breathing’s caught up tight in his throat, bound up behind a swollen tongue that thirsts to drink from Dean’s mouth.

Well, he’ll just have to wait.

Dean tugs on the chain between him, skin heating up, chasing the way Cas’s eyes fly open, the way they roll, the way his head hangs back, but his pelvis twists up, thrusting the air, and Dean says, “Come. Come on—“ and he tugs again, and Cas staggers after him, breathless rags of consonant sounds and spit-slicked vowels slipping between his teeth as Dean pushes him right up against the wall, slides his knee between Cas’s thighs, and flicks his nipple hard, ignoring the way the piercing bites into his nail bed because of the way Cas jerks back, head hitting the wall with a dull thud, and the way his lower half pushes up against the waist of Dean’s pants, up against his t-shirt, trying to find anything, a slip of stomach to rub against, a taste of bare flesh, so Dean slaps Cas’s cock away, pulling hard on his nipples with that fine chain, pinching and twisting one with his right fingers, while his left hand grips the fine hairs curling at the nape of Cas’s neck, arching his head back so that his ear is right in front of Dean’s mouth.

“Behave,” he says, voice low, before he slaps Cas on the cheek, not hard enough to mark, just hard enough to sting, to remind Cas of the rules determined by them both—

And then Dean dips his head, tugs the chain harder, hard enough to pull the first full pitched whine from the back of Cas’s throat as he licks his areolas, the promise of his teeth grazing the flesh, his free hand splayed wide across Cas’s chest, pinning him against the wall’s so that he can’t thrust up into Dean’s face, forcing him to use his teeth before he’s goddamn ready, and so Dean releases his nipple and slaps his cock again as a warning, and Cas goes still, even if his breathing becomes more labored, even as the sex flush spreads across his shoulders. 

Pulling the chain taut, Dean circles the freckle with his tongue, not enough to tickle, but Cas shudders anyway, voice edging the harsh sound of his breath for the first time, so Dean licks and pulls his way up to the pierced nipple, sucks both them and the silver ring into his mouth, pulling and teasing until Castiel bangs his head against the wall again, hand reaching for Dean’s head until Dean bites down, hard, on his tender flesh, tooth and ring biting into him, and Castiel jerks his hand back, fingers clenched into a fist as that, too, crashes into the wall, hard enough to bruise, Dean thinks.

Dean dips his hand, slides his palm over Castiel’s cock, over the top, thumbing the slit, briefly, hard enough to make Cas flinch forward, crying out, then pushing himself back as Dean lessens the pressure, pinning him with his stare, the one that said don’t you dare push back you son of a bitch or you’ll be left so fucking empty and wanting that Castiel just slumps against the wall, throat fluttering half-swallowed moans as Dean massages his perineum in tandem with the way his fingers are tracing, teasing his nipples, so peaked and proud, silver so fucking shiny from his tongue, and Dean sucks on this thumb, appreciating Castiel’s half-lidded eyes, before circling his hole, his tight, clenching, hungry hole as he pinches and pulls the chain, flicking the right nipple and then the left nipple as Cas writhes under him, against the wall, finally, finally, letting loose a hoarse, “Dean—“ before catching himself, before biting down on his lips, wetting them up, making them so fucking pink with the white grip of his teeth.

Dean withdraws his hand from teasing his hole, cups Cas’s breast, and squeezes. “Dean what?” he asks, lowering his mouth and sucks the pink nipple, teasing with the tip of his tongue. “Feel free to talk. If you can.”

“Dean—“ and Dean bites down, once, and Cas cuts himself off with nothing that sounds like a word, hand scrabbling at the wall behind him.

Dean lifts his head, pauses.

“Well?”

Castiel doesn’t even get his name out before Dean tugs on the chain, bites down on one nipple and pinches, twists, corkscrews the other until Castiel cries out, his cock jerking, spitting pre-come against Dean’s thigh, so Dean steps away, leaves it to the kiss of the bare hot empty air, and laughs.

“Cat caught you tongue?” And Dean shoves his mouth up against Castiel’s already gaping mouth, lips limply moving, trying to find the words that keep getting pinched off every time Dean pulls that fucking chain, and Dean just sucks his tongue up right into his mouth, milking every syllable, every sound that Cas has to offer, safe with the knowledge that Cas can stop him whenever he wants to, with a simply gesture, but they want this, they both do, and Dean tongue-fucks his mouth until they can barely breathe.

When Dean lets him go, Cas’s head falls to the side, and Dean pulls the chain tight, looks down, sees how pert and red those nipples are, and squeezes the other breast, and just holds it there, silent, as Castiel tries to pull himself together.

“Dean, please—please—”

And Dean jerks again, and it’s no use to say anything, so Castiel doesn’t—just lets loose his unbridled noises, every half-bitten off  _fuck,_ every scratched up  _yeah_ and  _oh god_  until his breathless  _don’t, don’t stop_

So of course Dean does. Takes away his hands, lets the chain fall loose and fast, bumping up against Castiel’s sweaty chest, hanging from those fucked up, well bitten nipples, tugged so tight and pert and Castiel’s eyes jerks up, shies away from looking Dean full in the face, the “Why” barely formed before Dean jerks the chain down hard, once, enough to drag Castiel to his knees, and Castiel goes still, absolutely still.

“Touch yourself. Touch those rings you got just for me. Twist and slide them through their holes.” And Castiel does. “Just like I did it for you.”

His eyes drop closed and his throat works up and down as he twists and pulls just like Dean had before him.

But it’s not enough.

“Jerk off,” Dean says. “But don’t come. Not until I say you can.”

And Castiel nods fast and hard, grips himself, jacks up and down. His breathing speeds up, splintered up sounds like he wants more slip out of his parted lips, and when he shifts so his ass lifts a little up in the air, so pleading and begging for something to fill him up, he speeds up the hand on his dick even as Dean unzips his own pants, while Castiel’s other hand pulls on his nipples even as Dean takes his hard cock out of the cradle of his wet satin pink panties and into his hand, lazily thumbing over his slit to his glans, spreading his precome around himself, that Castiel finally gasps, “Dean, I need, I need—“ and he moans, he moans with his mouth open and so fucking pretty that Dean just shoves his own cock into that mouth,  saying, “Shut up,” as he pushes into his wet heat all the way up to Cas’s throat as Castiel relaxes around him, hollows his cheeks and swallows him down.

When Dean slides out, Castiel pulls extra hard on his chain, on Dean’s chain, and so Dean thrusts back him, all the way in, until the open v of his jeans frames Castiel’s face, until the only thing that Castiel can smell is him, his sweat and his come and him, just him, and when Cas’s eyes are blown wide into hungry mouths rimmed in jewel blue the only thing he can see is him, just him, and sets up a rhythm, fucking in and out of Castiel’s mouth, the only sounds Cas’s hand on his dick going faster and then slower, to stop from coming, and the sight tightens the coil of heat knotted up in Dean’s belly, and orgasms inside Cas’s mouth, his come filling him up, sating that thirst as Cas swallows it and him down, flicking at the oversensitive tip with his tongue so Dean smacks him lightly upside the head as he slips out, kneels in front of Castiel, adds his hand to Cas’s, and whispers into his ear, “Come, come for me.”

And Castiel does, painting their hands and their fingers with himself, and Dean rubs him through it, getting him back for that thing with his tongue there at the end by tugging, hard, on his nipples.

“Hey. Not fair,” Cas says, pushing him, but making no move to get away or to get dressed, so Dean just laughs at him.

“Whoever said that life was fair?” Dean says, sprawling himself in Cas’s lap.

“You’re missing the point.” Cas rolls Dean off, then shimmies into his jeans, zipping and buttoning up. “The point being that I now have dinner to finish making.”

He does, though Dean supposedly tries to help but mostly just sneaks tastes of their packaged cooking dough (all the while complaining that he could have made it better himself from scratch, and how little there is left over for dessert even when Castiel pointedly mentions there would be a lot more if he hadn’t eaten most of it before hand).

They fuck one more time before bed, hard and loud enough that the neighbors pound on the wall (though another pair turns up some horrible disco music with a peppy beat) until they collapse into come-splattered laughter, and they sleep, folded up in each other’s arms. 


End file.
